


In Zytha Veritas

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Dean gets Sam drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Zytha Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deirdre_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/gifts).



Sam gets home from Theresa Cooper's sweet sixteen party a little after ten to find Dean waiting up for him, just as he'd expected, sprawled on the living room's low couch, watching the news. He sits up when Sam opens the door and gives him a quick once-over, out of habit.

"How was it, party girl?" he asks, grinning.

"Fine, asshole," Sam says, smiling, and throws himself down next to his brother.

"Kind of figured you'd come home drunk," Dean says, ruffling his hair. Sam snorts and squirms his way under Dean's arm, tucking himself into the crook of Dean's body.

"Why, 'cause all teen age parties have booze?" he asks.

"Nah," Dean says, "just kind of... I dunno. Thought Theresa was the boozin' kind."

"She is," Sam admits. "There was a stash of liquor in the basement and her parents weren't really paying attention."

"So why didn't you, you know? Partake?"

Sam jams his thumb into Dean's ribs. "Lookit you with your fancy GED," he teases. "No, I just. You and dad never let me drink, and you're always telling me not to let my guard down. I didn't know the neighborhood, so I figured I was better off."

"Smart kid," Dean says softly, fondly, and Sam looks up to see him smiling. Then he shoves Sam away from him and practically leaps from the couch, striding into the kitchen without a backwards glance, even when Sam yells, "Hey! What?"

Sam hears the fridge open, the clink of glass bottles, and knows Dean's getting a beer. When Dean comes back with two, though, he raises an eyebrow and shifts on the couch to make room again. Dean pops the tops with his keychain opener and hands a bottle to Sam, and sits down again in the space Sam left him. He tips the mouth of the bottle towards Sam in a salute.

"To not letting your guard down," he says, and takes a sip. Sam stares at him. "Come on, dude! I hereby give you permission to drink that."

Sam frowns and sniffs the bottle carefully. The smell reminds him of Dean and Dad after a slow day and a long training work-out, sitting on the stoop and talking business, the next hunt, the last hunt, while Sam sits in the shade and tries not to sweat himself to dehydration. He remembers the smell of it on Dean's breath, and makes Sam think of the first time he kissed Dean in the dark, when they shared a bed in Tallahassee in December.

In front of him, Dean jostles him with his knee and takes another sip, and Sam lifts the bottle carefully to his mouth.

The taste catches him off guard, and he shudders. Dean laughs and claps him on the shoulder and says, "Drink up, buddy," and it makes him feel strange and small. He drinks anyway.

After the first beer, the second one tastes much better, and now Dean's stupid jokes are funnier and Sam's hands feel heavy. He's too warm in his sweatshirt and he strips it off, getting caught in the sleeves. Dean attacks him while he's blind, tickling for all he's worth, and Sam shrieks and writhes and wrenches the sweatshirt away to pound on Dean's back with his fists until Dean finally stops. Sam accepts a third beer while he catches his breath from laughing, and Dean dares him to chug it.

He fails, spluttering and coughing, and Dean guffaws and swears at him for the mess and takes the beer away until he's sure Sam's not dead.

"I'll clean it up," Sam promises, gesturing to the beer he's spit on the floor, "I swear. I swear, Dean. You hear me?"

"I hear you," Dean says, throwing his sweatshirt, and Sam batts it away.

"Not with that!" he cries. "That's not what that's for! I get one nice sweatshirt, man--"

"I know," Dean says, "I know, I know. I know. Bought you that damn thing."

"It's so comfy," Sam confides, slouching down on the couch again, half on top of Dean. Dean curls his arms around Sam's shoulders, and Sam presses his cheek to Dean's chest and breathes in slowly. Dean smells so good-- like sweat and laundry detergent and cheap shampoo, leather and gun oil and onions from dinner. Sam turns his face to press his nose to the center of Dean's chest and inhales again, and Dean snorts.

"You are so weird," he says, and Sam shakes his head.

"You're weird," he counters, squirming to get more comfortable, and realizes that he's hard. His whole body feels warm and alive, the alcohol coursing through him, and being close to Dean just makes him horny. Dean hasn't noticed, though, carding his hand through Sam's hair, and Sam feels both ashamed and bold with his erection pressed against the sofa and his hands tucked under Dean's ribs.

He lifts his head and Dean gives his hair a tug. It hurts and it feels good, and everywhere they're touching feels good. Sam meets Dean's eyes, and Dean opens his mouth to say something and pauses. He closes his mouth again and blinks slowly, and Sam licks his lips. Dean mirrors the motion, and Sam surges up to kiss him. Their mouths collide awkwardly and Dean cusses again, but he grabs Sam by the belt loops and hauls him up so they're chest to chest and Sam's dick digs into his thigh. Sam gasps and his hips jerk unbidden, and Dean slides his hands from Sam's hips to his ass, holding him in place.

"C'mon," Dean urges, tipping his chin up, and Sam kisses him again. He licks slowly into Dean's mouth, lips parting, and Dean groans softly and kisses back, fingers flexing.

Sam feels awesome. He loves kissing, and he fucking loves kissing Dean. He loves the slow, wet slide of their mouths, the way Dean likes to bite his lower lip gently, the soft sound of Dean breathing through his nose while Sam sucks on his tongue. He loves the way Dean rolls his hips up against Sam's, casually, like a wave, his cock hard and pressed against Sam's thigh. Dean's body is hot under his, heat seeping through his t-shirt, and he's all muscle and strength where Sam clutches him. Sam moans into his mouth and tilts his head to the side to change the angle, and Dean lets go of his ass to press one hand against Sam's back and the other against the back of his head. He holds Sam in place and kisses him, tasting like beer and spit, and Sam's nerves are alight with want.

"You wanna," Dean starts, barely a breath against his mouth. He sounds as turned on and apprehensive as Sam feels. They've only fucked around a few times since that first kiss in Florida, mostly jerking each other off inside their pants, once with pajamas around their knees, and Sam knows Dean wants to take it slow for his benefit. He wants to know Sam knows what they're getting into. Sam knows. Sam wants it.

"No," he says, smoothing a hand down Dean's warm side. He brushes his nose past Dean's, nuzzling. "Just wanna. Like this?"

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Yeah, okay." His face is partly in shadow, but Sam can see a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He kisses it, licks Dean's lower lip, and kisses him deep again. Dean groans and tightens his hands, widens his thighs so Sam can fit between them and grind right against him. Sam's cock feels huge, and Dean's feels even bigger, and Sam's stomach twists with nervous, wonderful desire.

"Should get you drunk more," Dean muses, between kisses. Sam laughs breathlessly, and Dean tips his head up in invitation. Sam takes it.


End file.
